


We'll Feel So Alive

by ix3thehpseries



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: bc the show has more than enough angst so i need my fics fluffy af, get ready for hella fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-10-27 06:25:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10803600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ix3thehpseries/pseuds/ix3thehpseries
Summary: Another modern AU drabble collection bc it's weird to not have one open.#1. Mackson: “Is always found napping in odd locations on campus?”#2. Bellarke: "Can we just watch a movie and fall asleep on the couch?"#3. Bellarke: “You bake when you’re stressed and sometimes you give me cookies, but recently you’re giving me whole baskets each day, now I’m not complaining but are you okay?”





	1. Chapter 1

Miller doesn’t exactly scream when he turns down an aisle and finds someone sprawled between the stacks in the library, but he’s also not very proud of the sound he does make.

He stares for a minute, taking in the guy on the floor. He’s slumped against one of the bookshelves, legs stretched out and books surrounding him. Miller can tell he’s breathing – thank God – and it looks like he just passed out, the book he was reading dropping into his lap. If it were finals week Miller wouldn’t judge, but it’s less than a month into the new semester, so he’s honestly a little concerned.

He goes back to his table, tells Clarke and Bellamy, “You’ve gotta see this,” and drags them over to where he was trying to find the book he needs for his English class.

“Med student,” Clarke says as soon as Miller points the guy out to them. Miller and Bellamy both turn to look at her and she says, “I know one of my own when I see them.” At Bellamy’s raised brow she continues, rolling her eyes. “He’s doing his clinical hours at my mom’s hospital. I’ve seen him around.”

“Should we wake him up?”

“Why would we do that?” Bellamy asks.

“Because he’s asleep in the middle of the library,” Miller says. “Aren’t you the one that’s always going on about stranger danger? Someone could steal his shit.”

“Who’s gonna steal his shit in the library?”

“I don’t know. Textbooks are expensive, I’m sure someone would steal them.”

While Bellamy and Miller argue, Clarke walks over and gently shakes the guy’s shoulder, saying, “Hey, Jackson, right? You’re asleep in the library and my friend’s afraid you’re gonna get robbed.”

“Who would rob me in the library?”

Miller’s response to Bellamy’s smug expression is to flip him off.

Jackson sits up straighter, cracking his neck. “Abby’s daughter?” he asks, tilting his head as he looks at Clarke.

“Clarke,” she says.

He nods. “She talks about you all the time, I should’ve known that.”

“I won’t hold it against you,” Clarke says. She gestures behind her. “This is Bellamy and Miller. Miller was the one afraid that you were going to be robbed, Bellamy thought we should leave you.”

“I didn’t say that!”

It’s enough to get Clarke and Bellamy bickering again, and Miller rolls his eyes at them, moving toward Jackson. “Can I?” Miller asks, gesturing vaguely to the shelf behind him.

“Yeah, sorry,” Jackson says, standing up and moving aside. Miller scans the shelf and finds the book he needs. He grabs it and turns to find Jackson smiling at him. “Thanks for being concerned about me getting robbed. I appreciate it.”

The tips of Miller’s ears do not go red when he says, “No problem. You probably shouldn’t fall asleep in the library again.”

***

The first time someone wakes you up because you’re asleep in public and they’re concerned for your wellbeing can be considered a fluke. The second time it happens, you have a problem.

This is exactly what Miller says as he shakes Jackson awake, working hard to hide the smile that wants to make its way across his face when Jackson grins blearily at him.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he says.

“Yeah, considering it’s almost dark and you’re asleep _in the quad_ ,” Miller says. “At least it’s hard for someone to find you and rob you in the library. Do you always fall asleep in weird places?”

“Med student,” Jackson says, like that’s all the explanation that’s needed. Which, Miller’s friends with Clarke so it does kind of explain, but still.

“It’s like you want someone to steal your organs.”

Jackson laughs and Miller finally lets himself smile a bit. “We’re on a college campus, how many people do you think there are going around illegally harvesting people’s organs?”

“You never know,” Miller says. Jackson laughs again and stands, stretching his arms over his head. Miller doesn’t let his eyes drop to where Jackson’s shirt rides up. 

“What are you up to?” Jackson asks, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“I’m headed to the library to study for a bit,” Miller says.

“Want some company?”

“Uh, sure,” Miller says, smiling a little when Jackson falls into step with him.

***

“Seriously,” Miller mutters, sliding into the booth across from Jackson and leaning forward to shake his shoulder. “This is ridiculous.”

Jackson is quick to wake up, scanning his surroundings and smiling when his eyes land on Miller. “Hey.”

“You have a problem,” Miller says.

Jackson frowns. “We’ve met like, three times and only hung out once, so I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“We’ve met three times because I keep finding you napping in weird places on campus,” Miller says, gesturing to the table that Jackson was just slumped over. “Don’t you have a bed?”

“Not on campus,” Jackson grumbles. He’s starting to gather his things, pausing to tilt his head and squint at the notebook he’d been sleeping on before tossing it into his bag.

“You could always use mine,” Miller says. He feels himself start to flush, but he doesn’t break eye contact when Jackson looks up at him, a small grin spreading across his face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Miller says. “I’ve got a desk that I study at, like a normal person. You can feel free to study on my bed and pass out there instead of all the weird places I keep finding you.”

“I don’t know,” Jackson says, still grinning, “You’ve talked a lot about me getting robbed or having my organs stolen when I fall asleep, maybe you’re just trying to lure me into a false sense of security so that you can sell my kidney on the college black market.”

“That’s definitely what I’m doing.”

Jackson shrugs. “I guess I’m cool with it as long as I get to sleep in a cute guy’s bed.”

“You play your cards right and you can do more than just sleep in it,” Miller says. Jackson laughs as he stands up, bumping his shoulder against Miller’s as the head off to the dorms.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “Can we just watch a movie and fall asleep on the couch?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All this speculation abt the finale has me eight different types of stressed, so here's some AU Bellarke being cute and domestic.

Bellamy lets out a groan, throwing himself face-first onto the couch, not even bothering to take off his tie. The noise draws Clarke’s attention, her head peeking out into the hall from her room, her neck craning to try to get a look at Bellamy.

“Rough day at work?” she asks.

Bellamy mumbles something and then lifts his head so that she can hear him. “It’s just been a long week. The closer we get to finals, the more kids want to stay after for extra study sessions. And O texted to say everyone’s going to the bar which is the last thing I wanna do.”

Clarke hums, ducking into her room before reappearing, padding down the hall in bare feet.

When she gets to the couch she taps Bellamy’s head and he rolls over, pulling himself up so that she can sit before dropping his head into her lap.

She runs her fingers through his hair and he sighs, relaxing into her touch. “Huh,” Clarke says, checking her phone, “She didn’t text me.”

“She told me to tell you,” Bellamy says. “She knows how you get when you’re painting.” He squints at her, taking in the spots of paint on her oversized shirt and the way her hair is falling out of its braid, a streak of blue across her cheek from where she was brushing it out of her face. “Have you eaten today?”

Clarke pauses her hand as she thinks. “I definitely had breakfast.”

“Yeah, because I left it out for you when I went to work.”

“Thanks for that,” Clarke says, grinning at him. “I also had coffee. I got through one cup, but I had to dump my second because I tried to wash my brushes in it instead of my water cup.”

“Of course you did,” Bellamy says, rolling his eyes and sitting up. He lets his head rest against the back of the couch, one arm over his eyes. “I just don’t want to go out.”

“That’s because you’re getting old,” Clarke says, “You’re becoming one of those people who spends their Friday nights doing crossword puzzles and watching cable news.”

“Shut up,” Bellamy says, without heat. “I’m good on Saturdays. Saturdays I can still drink you under the table. I just don’t want to go out on Friday nights. I’m stressed on Fridays. I just want to relax on the couch and fall asleep at a reasonable hour.”

“Old,” Clarke says, poking his side as she stands. She goes to the kitchen, rummaging around for a few minutes before coming back with a takeout menu. “We’ve got nothing in the fridge,” she says, dropping the menu on Bellamy’s head.

He catches it before it falls, shooting her a dirty look. She grins at him. “Can we just watch a movie and fall asleep on the couch?” she asks. “I don’t really feel like going out either.”

“You just called me old for wanting to do the same thing,” he says, scanning the menu.

“You are old,” Clarke says, “I’m just lame.” She tugs the menu out of his hands once he folds it back up. “I’ll order our usual, you can tell Octavia we’re not going out.”

“Why do I have to tell her?” Bellamy grumbles. He stands and stretches his arms over his head, kicking at Clarke’s foot as he passes her to head down the hallway.

“She’s your sister,” Clarke says. “And she didn’t text me about tonight. So it’s on you.”

Thirty minutes later, they’re on the couch, both showered and in sweats.

Bellamy flips through Clarke’s Netflix queue while she opens up take out containers, settling on a documentary that they’d started months ago and still hadn’t finished.

Clarke groans as she sits back on the couch, a takeout container on her lap. “At least start it over,” she says, “I don’t even remember what this is about.”

“Roman Empire, Princess, come on,” Bellamy says, nudging her shoulder when he settles onto the couch. She nudges him back and he restarts the documentary, nudging her again once it begins playing.  
They get through the first part of the documentary while resting their feet on the coffee table and stealing food from each other’s containers. Once they finish, Bellamy puts their leftovers in the fridge and pulls out a few beers.

When he unpauses the documentary, Clarke leans against him and his arm on the back of the couch moves to her shoulders. She snuggles into his side and sighs. “Way better than a bar.”

“Definitely,” Bellamy agrees, squeezing her shoulder.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “You bake when you’re stressed and sometimes you give me cookies, but recently you’re giving me whole baskets each day, now I’m not complaining but are you okay?”

It’s probably not normal to immediately think “ _poison!_ ” when someone leaves cookies outside of your door, but Clarke’s been in a passive-aggressive note war with her upstairs neighbor for the last nine months and, at this point, she wouldn’t put anything past him.

“Why would you just immediately jump to poison?” Raven asks. Her voice sounds far-away over the phone and she adds, “You’re on speaker, by the way. I have shit to do, I can’t just sit here and listen to you complain about how you wanna bone your neighbor all day.”

“That is the exact opposite of what I’m saying,” Clarke says, tone flat. She’s frowning at the plate of cookies on her counter, phone tucked between her cheek and shoulder, arms crossed. “I said that I think he’s trying to poison me.”

“I’m reading between the lines.” Clarke can picture the flippant hand gesture that she knows Raven is making and she scowls harder. “All you do is complain about it, but it’s really because he’s super hot and you’re mad that instead of jumping him the first time you met, you tried to fight him.”

Clarke sounds like a petulant child when she says, “I didn’t try to fight him.”

“You literally told me that that’s exactly what you tried to do,” Raven says. “Anyway, I doubt he poisoned the cookies. Maybe they’re a peace offering and put pot in them.”

“I doubt that,” Clarke says. She pokes one of the cookies. Her finger sinks into a chocolate chip and she nearly groans. They’re still warm and gooey.

“Whatever, I’ve got to go.” Raven’s grin is obvious even if Clarke can’t see it when she says, “Go pretend you’re going up to ask your hot neighbor about the cookies. I know you want to, even if it’s just an excuse for you to talk to him, because y’know, hot neighbor. Let me know if there’s pot in them.”

She hangs up without a proper goodbye and Clarke spends two more minutes staring at the cookies before huffing and turning on her heel.

***

Her knuckles rap three times against Bellamy’s door, sharp, before he answers.

“Did you make me poisoned cookies?”

He opens his mouth, then pauses, closing it and cocking his head to the side. “Poisoned?” he asks.

Clarke doesn’t say anything, just continues starting at him. He’s wearing an apron covered in flour and he’s got his glasses on. There’s something soft playing throughout his apartment, some type of classical music. When he opens the door wider to get a better look at her, the smell of chocolate wafts across the hallway.

It all makes him seem very normal and reasonable and not at all like they type of person who would poison his neighbor with cookies, but Clarke came all the way up to confront him, so she’s not gonna back down now.

“Why would I make you poisoned cookies?”

“I don’t know,” Clarke says, shrugging one shoulder, “Because you’re an asshole?”

Bellamy rolls his eyes, but answers, with a huff. “I stress bake. I’m stressed. I made cookies. My sister’s out of town this weekend, so I didn’t have anyone to give them to. I thought you would appreciate them, not assume they were poisoned.”

Clarke crosses her arms over her chest. “It was a legitimate concern!”

Bellamy just raises a brow at her. She stares back and he breaks first, throwing his hands up. “Fine. Eat them, don’t eat them, I don’t care.”

He closes the door, not quite slamming it, but Clarke gets the message anyway.

When she gets back to her apartment, she takes a tentative bite of one of the cookies and actually moans at how good it is.

The next day, she shoves a small sketch under his door, of her with a plate of cookies and a comically large tongue, hearts in her eyes.

***

After that, the baked goods start showing up a bit more often. Clarke gets a loaf of banana bread on Easter, three different types of cookies at the end of the school year, and one random batch of brownies in summer that she can’t figure out the catalyst of.

It’s not until she gets cinnamon rolls, homemade bread, red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese frosting, and some cookies that looks like they came straight off of Pinterest all in one week that Clarke starts to worry.

When the apple pie shows up, she decides it’s time’s to intervene.

Bellamy answers his door in complete disarray. He’s in the same apron he was wearing the last time Clarke knocked on his door, he’s got some type of mix streaked across his cheek, and glasses are askew.

“Are you okay?” Clarke asks.

She’s already shoving past him, into his apartment, when she stops short. His kitchen looks like a bakery exploded in it and he just shrugs, sheepish, when Clarke looks over at him.

“Uh, my sister moved out this week,” he says, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“So you decided to open a bakery?” Clarke asks.

Bellamy crosses his arms. “This is the first time I’ve ever lived alone,” he says, defensive. “It’s weird not having her here.”

“Did she move out of the state?”

There’s a beat of silence before Bellamy answers. “She moved into the dorms at the college.”

“That’s ten minutes away,” Clarke says.

Bellamy’s still got his arms crossed, a scowl on his face. “We got into an argument before she left and I’m just not handling it well. It’s fine.” At Clarke’s skeptical look, he continues, “Seriously, I’ve got this. I’ll be good in a few days.”

“You’ll be in a sugar coma in a few days,” she says.

“I’m not eating it all,” Bellamy says. “Oh, that reminds me.”

He strides across the room to his kitchen table and picks up a coffee cake, holding it out to Clarke. “This is for you.”

She just gapes at him for a moment before taking the cake out of his hands and setting it on the table. She grabs his hand, tugging and says, “Come on, we’re getting you out of here.” She gets halfway to the door before pausing. “Do you have anything in the oven right now?”

“No,” he says, slowly.

“Good.” Clarke lets go of his hands and makes a shooing motion. “Go turn it off and wash your face. We’re going out.”

“Where?”

“A movie, the park, I don’t know,” she says. She shoos him away again. “Anywhere. You just need to get away from the baked goods for a while.”

He blinks at her a few times before heading back toward the over, taking off his apron on the way.

It’s not until they’re in the lobby of the apartment building that he asks, “Are you going to murder me?”

Clarke huffs and shoots a glare at him, but he’s grinning. “You thought I poisoned you when I tried to do something nice. It’s a fair question.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, but that s4 finale tho. I'm dealing with it by aggressively writing fanfic.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always accepting prompts via comments on here or on [tumblr](http://fitnessandfandom.tumblr.com/ask)!


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